


Tumblr Dialogue Prompts Collection

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, Drabble Collection, Inadvisable Knife Use, M/M, Sappy, Slight Masochism, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16281857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: Drabbles related to prompts sent to my askbox on Tumblr. Feel free to submit one if you have the time!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How to find the dialogue prompts:   
> 1\. Go to shatteredhourglass.tumblr.com  
> 2\. Ignore all the Venom thirst posts.   
> 3\. Search 'prompts' on the blog.   
> 4\. Scroll and you'll find the prompts! From there, you can just pick a number and send it into my askbox.
> 
> PROMPT: “Don’t yell at me like I’m a child!” “DON’T THROW SCISSORS!”

“I’m going to snap your neck,” Bucky threatens.

“Don’t be boring, Barnes,” Clint answers casually, tossing another knife.

It embeds itself into the board beside Bucky’s ear with a solid, resounding thunk. To his credit, Clint’s boyfriend doesn’t flinch, although his eye twitches a little. If he wasn’t firmly handcuffed to the headboard of their bed, he might’ve strangled the archer by now. Luckily for Clint, though, Bucky is well and truly secured to the bed, the cuffs a special present from one Tony Stark, built to withstand supersoldiers with muscles that could lift a truck. He’s only in a pair of low-slung black boxers that are revealing a tantalizing hipbone on one side, and Clint’s in an amusingly large sweater he’d stolen from Bucky a few weeks ago and nothing else. The knives are nicely lined up in a neat circle around Bucky’s head, careful not to cut his hair. It’s good work, even if he is still half-asleep and buzzing a little around the edges from their earlier activities. He’s proud of it.

Bucky blinks slowly and tilts his head, forehead brushing one of the dark handles of the knives. He probably could get away if he actually wanted to, but he’s just laying there, boneless and languid as Clint throws weapons at him. There’s something intimate about this being allowed, the trust Bucky shows because he knows Clint _can_ hurt him but won’t. If Clint was in Bucky’s position with all the brainwashing and the betrayal and murder, he’s not sure he’d be able to let someone do things like this. Hell, he gets flinchy when he sees Natasha with a weapon sometimes. His fingers wrap around another knife, a sleek black thing, and it sinks into the space above Bucky’s shoulder with a thump. Bucky doesn’t move an inch.

“We’re going to need a new bed after this, you’re ruining the wood,” he says.

“It’s fine. Adds character,” Clint reasons, throwing another knife. After all, they’ve both got plenty of knife wounds on them, white scars and mental damage, and they’ve got personalities like wildfire. Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Think I can go right around the outline of your body?”

“If you bust the mattress you’re buying a new one, Barton.”

He doesn’t answer the question, though, and Clint picks up a knife he’d gotten from Kate for his birthday, coated in a layer of titanium oxide so it gleams rainbow in the morning light. It lands a few inches above the join of flesh and metal on Bucky’s left side. Clint tried to kiss the scarring there once and Bucky got all weird and embarrassed on him. He keeps trying, though, because he’s determined to love every part of his emotionally stunted assassin boyfriend, even the bits Hydra twisted and turned into a weapon. When he reaches for the next knife, he looks down and realises he’s run out. Awh, knives, no. He scratches behind one hearing aid and glances around for more, mentally calculating how many days he’ll have to spend on the couch if he uses the good kitchen knives.

Bucky’s looking drowsy and comfortable, though, so he gets off the end of the bed with some reluctance and begins rummaging around in his drawers for spare knives. Between the two of them, they should really have more weapons than they know what to do with, but Bucky has a thing about cleaning and keeping the weapons out of easy range. Clint just likes having them everywhere, because it’s practical, but it’s not a neat process. He pushes aside an alarmingly purple dildo and finds a pencil case filled with bits and bobs, and takes it back to the bed. Bucky blinks his eyes open lazily when the mattress dips, but doesn’t move otherwise.

Clint selects a kunai and flicks it with perfect precision. Bucky raises an eyebrow. The next thing to stab into the headboard of the bed is a shuriken, which makes Bucky’s eyebrow raise even higher. He’s really running out of things at this point, and that’s what makes his boyfriend snap at last.

“ _Hey_!”

“Don’t yell at me like I’m a child!”

“Don’t throw fuckin’ scissors at me!”

“I haven’t hit you yet,” Clint argues, tossing the case aside and climbing up the bed. Bucky’s frowning at him, but he looks more exasperated than actually upset, so Clint’ll take it. He sits himself comfortably in Bucky’s lap, straddling his waist, and flicks out a worryingly sharp nail file, stabbing it pointedly into the wood under Bucky’s ear. This close, he can see the way his boyfriend’s pupils dilate at the sharp movement and it spikes his own arousal as he realises Bucky really doesn’t mind this even a little bit despite the complaining. Interesting.

“You got a knife kink, Barnes?”

“Fuck off.”

“No, seriously,” he says, reaching up to splay his hand against Bucky’s collarbone. He’s warm. “I can work with that, you know. ‘s long as you don’t want me to like, cut off your fingers or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Please don’t cut off my fingers. Nah, it’s just you.”

“ _Me_?” Clint asks incredulously. “You have a Hawkeye kink?”

“I have a Clint Barton kink,” Bucky corrects, looking vaguely embarrassed.

Clint’s heart feels like it’s going to overflow and if he gets sappy now, Bucky will probably kill him, so he leans in for a kiss instead. He gets a whole lot of interested former Hydra assassin in return, and nips at Bucky’s lip playfully. Bucky jumps so hard he nearly knocks Clint off of his perch on top of him, and when Clint leans back, he looks startled and messy and turned on.

“How far does this kink of yours go?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "You're weird." "Or you're just basic."

“Man, they really did a number on you, didn’t they, Terminator?”  
  
Bucky grimaces at him and Clint can’t quite push down the urge to smile back. He gets an eyeroll for his efforts. It’s quite the ego boost, having an injured Winter Soldier come to his room to get patched up. They all knew Bucky wouldn’t go anywhere near the medical floor- something about the white walls and equipment unsettled him, but he’d normally go to Steve. Obviously Clint’s been doing something right, if he’s being trusted enough to do this. It’s funny, the thought that he could do anything right, being who he is. He picks at where dried blood has stuck Bucky’s undershirt to his back, cringes a little when he catches sight of the slashes down that pale skin. It’s a reminder that the job they have isn’t a safe one, that they could die any day now, and it’d just be part of the work. They’re dispensable. Part of being an Avenger, Clint supposes. He bites his lip and deftly peels the shirt away from the cuts, and Bucky lets him, lifts his arms obediently so Clint can slip it over his head.  
  
It gets flicked onto the floor to join Clint’s discarded clothes- some of those are covered in blood too, so he’s not too concerned about the mess. He’s fairly sure Tony has cleaning robots that appear sometimes and wash things, but he’s quite happy to just accumulate piles of stuff everywhere. It makes the place feel more _normal_ , somehow, even though there’s nothing normal about having an entire floor to yourself in the goddamn Stark Tower. Now he’s got a shirtless Bucky Barnes sitting on his bed, looking tired and disgruntled but almost uncomfortably attractive even with the blood smeared across every part of his body. He pushes aside the thoughts of what might happen if the situation were different and grabs a damp cloth, starts wiping at the mess. Clint can feel Bucky’s stare on him, but he’s not sure what’s allowed in this situation so he just shuts his mouth and works on the familiar routine of cleaning and patching wounds. Bucky doesn’t say anything either, until Clint presses his fingers down lightly on a purpling bruise and Bucky inhales sharply, breathes out a curse. The bruising is spectacular, blooming up on his ribs and across the jut of one hipbone, yellows and greens and purples.  
  
Some weird, dark part of Clint is a little jealous. But honestly, he gets banged up enough as it is.  
  
“These’ll heal pretty quick, yeah?”  
  
“Probably,” Bucky agrees, quiet. “Couple of hours, at the most.”  
  
“I’d be pissed off at that, honestly,” Clint says before his brain catches up with his mouth.  
  
Bucky raises an eyebrow and Clint cringes visibly. Fuck. “You _like_ having bruises?”  
  
“I mean,” he starts, awkward, “sometimes bruises can be fun, you know? Maybe not picking a fight with a mob boss and getting thrown into a wall, but an edge of pain can be good in other situations.”  
  
“I didn’t pick a fight with him, I was saving those kids,” Bucky grumbles at him, and Clint can’t help a snort, because of course he’d get hurt trying to save children. For someone who’s supposed to be a hard, scary assassin, the Winter Soldier seems to have a thing for protecting people who can’t protect themselves. “So, what, you’re a masochist?”  
  
“How do you even know what a masochist is, Barnes? Weren’t you born in, like, the nineteen-tens?”  
  
“Just because Steve’s a prude doesn’t mean the rest of us were,” Bucky protests. “Is this why you always look like you just got out of a fight? You let people beat you up because you get off on it?”  
  
Clint gives him a half-shrug instead of answering verbally, because yeah, maybe he’s a little reckless sometimes, but it’s worth it for the marks he can feel branded into his skin later. During boring SHIELD meetings he’d press down on them over his clothes and revel in the way it felt. He hasn’t done it recently, but he can feel the weight of Bucky’s scrutiny, searching the exposed skin of his arms and the sliver of skin where his shirt isn’t quite covering his hip. There’s no bruising, of course, because he’s been behaving lately and Natasha won’t succumb to his pleading stares. He exhales through his nose and sits on the bed next to Bucky, turning his gaze to where there’s an arrow embedded in the wall. Bucky’s still watching him.  
  
“You’re weird,” Bucky says, after a pause.  
  
“Or maybe you’re just basic,” Clint reasons, flopping down to lay on the bed. He has a moment of quiet, thoughtful silence and then Bucky leans over him, still shirtless and battered to hell, but there’s something intent in those eyes that makes a buzz of electricity burn down Clint’s spine. He stays where he is, his breath catching in his throat when Bucky’s left hand lands on his collarbone and pushes down just barely. Bucky watches his reaction and then smirks, just barely.  
  
“You want to help me be… less basic?”  
  
“That sounds like you’re propositioning me, Sergeant Barnes.”  
  
“Maybe I am,” Bucky says, presses a little firmer. Clint can feel all the controlled power in that arm, he’s seen all the damage it can do and yet he’s still kind of helplessly turned on by the idea of it being used on him.  
  
“Then I graciously accept the chance to defile you,” Clint says, and Bucky laughs.


End file.
